


Stolen Wine

by indi_indecisive



Series: Nobody's Son [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (Video Game 2014)
Genre: Stealing, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 09:12:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8973706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indi_indecisive/pseuds/indi_indecisive





	

There were supposedly many things which gave one freedom in the world, not just in Westeros nor the North, and with them twice as many restrictions. Words were one of them, although Asher thought them to be no better than running, but a freedom nonetheless. Asher would take what he was capable of getting, and more. 

Fingers ran slowly across the rim of a goblet filled with a stolen wine disguised as water for a sister too parched and exhausted to get up, the rim was chipped yet too dull to cut a soft lip or finger pad. Always been one to sneak around, often little care in who knew unless another's knowledge enacted prevention. One could shiver at the thought, had his teeth almost grinding in anger to the thought of their father. Just the same, he was always one to crawl into Mira’s bed and press his cold feet against her calves until she rolled over and kicked him whenever she could out the bed. He’d land on his ass with nary a complaint, benevolent apologies falling from his lips as he begged to be allowed back into the bed: the floor was too cold, and he’d leave his furs in his own room or forgotten in the grove. Mira would always let him back; where they would gossip about their thoughts towards freedom, of lives they would never get to have. No lords and ladies, just Asher and Mira. 

They were always a Forrester at heart. Perhaps that is why it was different, how they will always be Asher and Mira Forrester no matter how many grand adventures they could scheme up with words slurred thickly tarred with sleep's embrace, and eyelids drooping from her sweet kiss. 

Tonight he stole from the cellars of one Roland Degore, just a single goblet of wine that shouldn’t and couldn’t have been missed. At least Asher did not believe Roland would count every drop of a randomly selected bottle of wine, there were no prints in the dust to suggest there had been thievery. The man would have to be insane to.

Asher slipped into Mira’s room once again with a practiced ease, a careful nudge with the knee opened a door which had been cracked, and the careful press and guide of his heel shut the door with little but a creak of iron hinges. None would want to wake their mother up from her sleep, regardless if it was a night he decided to smuggle wine halfway across Ironrath for Mira. “Mira,” the name was but a whisper slithering off the tongue, squinting in the darkness, sniffling at the fresh scent of candle fat and burnt wick. She must have snuffed it out upon hearing his footsteps, better not to be caught by Rodrik or father. “It’s me. Why’d you blow out the bloody candle for?” Never had he held a curse on bated breath, not unless he sat in the presence of the young twins, and then often swearing in the worst moment. A mother’s finger would be quick to catch his ear, pulling and scolding until he apologized, and even then. Just the same, he swore toward their father, and the thought had to be pushed aside and focused on later. Alone on his bed, laying flat on his back as hands flexed in the thought of the morning: sitting on a Maester' chair with the rough scrape of cloth to clear and clean the blood and dirt from his cheek and chin.

“I’ve brought wine, come on.” A whine purred in his throat, cut off in the worry of being too loud, accompanied with the light stomping of his heel and the subsequent slap of flesh against the cold stone floor. His ears seemed far better than his eyes in the darkness, though years of nightly training let him pick out the faintest movement in the shadows, or was that the battering of blond lashes as he blinked? She was by his side in seconds, her fingers brushing against his as she made for the cup, the action robbing the breath of his throat as his ears pounded with blood. It took a moment to understand the feeling: regret. 

“To hell with it, Mira.” The words seemed more for himself, the way confusion pulled upon her face with a knitted brow. He slapped a lazy grin upon his face, shrugging his shoulders in a roll as he released his hold on the cup. There was a freedom to the action, the way Mira smiled before she had her first taste of stolen wine. 

“To hell with it, Asher.”


End file.
